InuYasha Fan Fiction ❯ Purity Zero ❯ Stalemate ( Chapter 2 )

“Sesshoumaru-sama!  I caught a bird!”

Sesshoumaru turned and glanced at Rin, who was speeding toward him with a small bird, held carefully between her hands.  It was fluttering, or at least, trying to, and even where he stood, he could hear the frenetic sound of the creature’s beating heart.  “Are you going to eat it?” he asked her, arching an eyebrow to emphasize his question.

She stopped abruptly, cocking her precocious head to the side as she peered up at him.  “Well, no-o-o-o-o . . .”

“You shouldn’t catch wild animals unless you’re going to eat them,” he reminded her since he’d told her that before, too.

She bit her lip, lifted her hands to stare at the bird.  “Oh . . . That’s right!  I forgot,” she said, tossing the bird gently into the air.  It caught itself and took off as Rin cupped her hands over her eyes to watch it fly away.  “Do you eat everything you kill?”

“I don’t kill animals,” he replied.

“Just annoying youkai—and human girls who talk too much,” Jaken added.

“Hey!” Rin exclaimed, turning on the imp, her hands balled into fists and propped on her small hips.  “That’s not true!”

Jaken snorted, lifting his head arrogantly.  “Well, it ought to be!”

Rin shook her head.  “You have such a small heart.”

“Jaken.”

Cut off from the retort he’d been forming, the imp spun around to face his master.  “Yes, Sesshoumaru-sama?”

“Take Rin back to the castle,” he said as he started to walk away.

“Where are you going, Sesshoumaru-sama?  Can I go, too?” Rin asked, hurrying after him.

Sesshoumaru stopped, peered down at the child.  “Stay with Jaken,” he told her.

She looked crestfallen for a moment.  Then she sighed.  “Will you be gone long?”

“As long as I need to be,” he told her.

She broke into a bright grin and nodded then dashed back over to Jaken, who looked entirely irritated to be left behind, and with the child, no less.  Sesshoumaru walked away without looking back.

InuYasha was gone?  Into the future, if the taijiya and houshi were to be believed . . . Sesshoumaru wasn’t sure that he bought into that whole thing.  After all, something like that simply wasn’t possible.

‘Are you really one to judge, what may or may not be possible?  Aren’t you, too, seeking to accomplish something that should not be possible, as well?  And, if what InuYasha has done really is possible, then maybe . . .’

‘That ignorant half-breed is not my concern.  That he is no longer of this world?  That only serves to prove just how foolish he really was.  Leaving those humans to fend for themselves?  Ignoble, at best . . . Treating the ones who helped him defeat Naraku since he was too weak to do so alone as nothing more than an afterthought?  It speaks volumes about one of his ilk . . .’

‘Except that he went after his mate, and that should mean something, too.’

Sesshoumaru narrowed his eyes, kept moving.  ‘Mates?  Mates, indeed . . . There is no such thing as mates—not in such a lasting way—not in a way that should ever matter.  If there were . . .’

‘If there were, then your father would never have left your mother—never would have created that abomination of a half-brother of yours, either, right?  That’s what you’re thinking, isn’t it?  And yet, your father favored InuYasha, didn’t he?  If he didn’t, then why would he have left him Tetsusaiga . . .?’

‘That matters not . . . Not anymore.’

‘Not since you learned that the true reason he left InuYasha that sword was to restrain his youkai blood.  However . . .’

‘Which is neither here nor there.  What is done is done.  Let it die.’

‘That’s fine, too.  The truth is nothing more than what you choose to believe, after all . . . Anyway, your original thought that mates aren’t real . . . If that’s true, then tell me—if you’re right—if mates aren’t really forever—then why are you going to such lengths to find out if there might be some way to bring her back?’

‘It’s mere curiosity; that’s all.  I would know why Tenseiga didn’t react to her.  What good is a sword of life if This Sesshoumaru must obey its whims?’

‘So, it’s nothing more than a question of your legacy sword, then.  I see . . .’

He didn’t deign to answer his youkai-voice.  It really wouldn’t do any good, anyway.  What he hated about the whole situation, he reasoned, was the deplorable feeling that he’d been entirely impotent when faced with the question of life and death.  Tenseiga . . . It should obey his will, and it did not.  If it had . . . No, better to concentrate on the things he could do . . .

It would have taken him three days if he’d had to stop to accommodate the child and imp.  He could reach his destination much faster without them.

He’d been considering it for a while now, and, though a part of him said that he was being ridiculous, a part of him couldn’t quite let go of it, either—not until he knew that he’d exhausted every possibility that he could think of . . .

Maybe, if he didn’t feel her presence so strongly, every time the wind blew, every time it touched him, lingered on his skin like a breath or a caress . . . Maybe, if he didn’t see that damned expression on her face in those final moments every time he closed his eyes . . . Maybe if he could forget that sad and lonely look on her face when she’d come to him, had fallen from the skies with a hole in her chest from Goryoumaru’s attack to give him a crystal made out of Gakusanjin's youki . . . That woman . . . She came to him in his dreams, but those dreams faded when he opened his eyes.  There was something in those dreams—something that he knew instinctively meant something, and if he could remember them, then it might point him in the right direction.

The sense that the knowledge he required lay just beyond his comprehension, his grasp . . .

It was infuriating.

He was the one who made demands, the one who bent others to his will.  He gave no sway to anyone else, and, if there was a way to bend the very whims of nature—even death—then he would find that way.  The earth would yield to Sesshoumaru.

Or he would destroy it.

“Sessho umaru-sama . . . So, it really is you.  I heard the whispers of the foolish trees, the rumors on the wind . . . You and InuYasha-sama . . . You defeated Naraku—together as the Brothers of the Fang.”

Stopping before the ancient magnolia-tree-youkai, Sesshoumaru narrowed his gaze, gave one curt nod.  Slowly, with groans and creaks, the trunk of the tree rearranged itself, seemed to split open to reveal the face of the youkai.  His eyes opened slowly, registering a trace surprise.  “And yet, something displeases you, does it not?” the ancient youkai mused.

Sesshoumaru did not confirm or deny it.  “I am not here to rehash that,” he replied.  “I have come for your counsel.”

Bokusenou chuckled.  It rattled the boughs of the old tree as the trembling leaves created a gentle whisper that filled the tiny clearing.  “My counsel, is it?  You, of all people?  Ah, then tell me, son of the great Inu no Taisho, what is it that you would have of me?”

“What do you know of Yomi no Kuni?”

Bokusenou looked surprised by Sesshoumaru’s question.  “The shadow-land of the dead?”

“Yes.”

“You’ve been there before, have you not?”

“That has nothing to do with this.”

“Hmm, I see . . . What do you wish to know?”

Sesshoumaru gave no outward change in expression, even as he bristled inwardly.  That he was being forced to ask for a favor was bad enough.  There really was no choice, though, given that he’d already tried—and failed.  It was the only way; his pride be damned.  “I require an invitation from Izanami no Mikoto.”

Bokusenou’s amusement died away as his eyes bulged slightly, standing in a strange sort of relief from the stout tree trunk.  “Izanami?  Why would you want such a thing?”

“That is none of your concern,” Sesshoumaru replied.  “Can you arrange it or know you of someone who can?”

“Possibly, but I’ve heard it said that interfering with one’s destiny can offset the future.”

“She never should have died,” Sesshoumaru growled.

Bokusenou considered that for a long moment, his gnarled old face, contorting in a few more wrinkles that made him blend into the trunk of the tree once more.  “This ‘she’ . . . So, you wish to return a soul to the living . . . and your Tenseiga would not save her?”

Grinding his teeth together so hard that his jaw ached, Sesshoumaru had to force himself to answer.  “No, it would not.”

The old youkai sighed, drawing another shiver and rustle from the leaves and branches as they swayed overhead.  “You should know, Sesshoumaru-sama . . . if Tenseiga rejects your will, there is always a good reason for it.  The woman—whoever she is . . . Perhaps she is better off to remain dead.”

“And I say she is not.  Can you assist me or do I need to look elsewhere?”

Bokusenou’s boughs rumbled as he seemed to ponder Sesshoumaru’s question.  “Am I to assume that you already passed through the gates, only to be turned away?”

It was on the tip of his tongue to tell the old vassal that it was none of his business.  Suddenly, though, the invisible fingers of a delicate breeze brushed over his cheek, and he smothered a sigh.  “I was told that I could only get answers if I was invited,” he admitted.

“That is no simple request,” Bokusenou muttered.

“So, you cannot arrange it.  Know you of one who can?”

Bokusenou uttered a terse grunt—an offended sort of sound.  “I did not say that I cannot.  You do not wear impatience very well, Sesshoumaru-sama.  Give me until the first light of dawn.  I’ll see what I can do.”

The stars hung thick and low in the sky.  Above the trees, they stretched out on the midnight blanket, too innumerable to count.  Cold and somber, almost sad, they seemed, and yet . . .

Funny how he hadn’t really noticed them that much before, if he ever really had.  Many were the times when he’d look off, over the horizon, and he’d notice the stars in a vague kind of way, but he wasn’t sure when or if he’d really looked at them before, either.

Reclined comfortably in the forked boughs of a tall sugi pine tree, Sesshoumaru blinked slowly, savoring the feel of the breeze—warm and almost sultry—against his skin.

He could feel the wind better up here, could smell the scents carried upon it.

Idly toying with the pristine white feather, held between his fingertips, he slowly, almost methodically, rolled it back and forth, willing himself to find a level of patience that he was far from feeling.

“. . . You do not wear impatience very well, Sesshoumaru-sama . . .”

No, he didn’t suppose that he did . . .

It was a long shot, and he knew it.  Even so, Bokusenou was the only being that he could think of that was ancient enough to know some way of wheedling the necessary invitation out of Izanami no Mikoto.  The belief was that Izanami died in childbirth of one of her kami-children, and she was sent to the underworld—Yomi no Kuni—the land of the dead, and when her mate ventured there to find her and bring her back, he realized that, because she’d eaten the food of the dead, her once-beautiful form had been ravaged, decayed, and was rotting away, eaten by maggots and other unsightly vermin.  The woman he found had frightened him, and he’d run away, leaving her behind to escape back to the living world.  She was enraged, and she’d sent her servants to stop him.  They had failed, and she’d caught up to him herself, just as he reached the gates that separated the realms, and in her anger, she had vowed to kill a thousand people every day.  He retaliated in kind, claiming that he would ensure that there were fifteen-hundred born daily, too.

Izanami was the ruler of Yomi no Kuni—and if Sesshoumaru had any hope of restoring Kagura to life, then he had to find a way to meet with her, to bargain with her, if need be.

‘But you remember what Jester said.  A living being, being granted audience with her?  Such a thing has never been done before, and, if you stop and consider it, it’s entirely possible that she may not like the idea that you hold a weapon such as Tenseiga.’

He’d considered that.  After all, most rulers didn’t take kindly to others who could rival them in power, and Tenseiga could easily level the playing field in such a way.

His lip curled as a highly cynical half-smile surfaced on his face.  ‘When it feels like cooperating, that is.’

‘So, you want to bring her back?  And then, what?’

That question irritated him.  Given that it was second-nature to despise being questioned by anyone for any reason, it wasn’t entirely surprising—even when the questions came from that voice that was held somewhere deep inside him.  ‘And then . . . Does it matter?’

‘Doesn’t it matter?  Why do you wish to bring her back so badly?  What is it about her that compels you so?’

‘And you do not know the answers to your own questions?’ he parried.

The voice chuckled softly—a rumble that was warm, even if it held an edge of condescension.  ‘I know the answers, Sesshoumaru.  I simply wondered if you do.’

‘Then enlighten me.’

‘And where would the challenge be in that?  You know, don’t you, that the most worthwhile things in life are learned through experience.  Giving answers to the tougher questions avails you nothing—nothing at all.’

‘Spare me the lectures.  This Sesshoumaru does not need them.’

It was entirely her fault, wasn’t it?

His frown turned a little more introspective as he flicked the feather against his lips, as he savored—and hated—the smell of her that lingered on it.

He didn’t know when the first time was that he’d truly noticed her.  Certainly, he hadn’t seen her as anything more than an extension of Naraku from the start.  A woman with audacity—one who sought to manipulate him into doing her bidding, knowing that she was not in the position to free herself from Naraku’s grasp, so she’d tried her best to proposition him—to get him to go after Naraku for her own reasons—for her freedom.

Still, he could forgive that, he supposed.  After all, it was the way of the world, wasn’t it? When it came right down to it, all people were only truly interested in things that benefitted them.  She was more straightforward than most of them, and that, in his opinion, spoke volumes . . .

He’d flushed her out of the trees where she’d been watching.  He’d been off with Jaken, looking for Kaijinbou, whom he had ordered to forge a sword for him—Tokijin—and he’d left Rin at a small campfire.  It had only taken him a moment to realize that they were being watched, and he’d launched himself at the trees, cutting them down, exposing Kagura, who was the absolute visage of a dancer in the pristine white and crimson kimono—and her small, delicate, bare feet . . . Entirely regal in bearing . . . And she was beautiful, even if he didn’t trust her.  Given her association with Naraku, it was understood . . .

There was a directness in her stare, a no-nonsense lilt in her voice when she spoke . . . She didn’t try to play games, and she didn’t resort to the typical female kinds of ploys.  True, she did encourage him to kill Naraku—not that he really needed any such thing, and yet, he could understand her situation there, as well.  She was tied to him, plain and simple.  Naraku held her heart, and it was at his whim that she survived at all.  For her, there was no real means of escape, and she’d done what she needed to do.

She was . . . a lot like him, wasn’t she?  Unwilling to ally herself too deeply, preferring to look out for herself because she really didn’t want to be beholden to someone else, and just ruthless enough to do the things that she needed to do if it meant that she’d be just a little closer to her goal . . .

Yet, she still asked him to kill Naraku, to set her free . . . Had it stung her pride to have to demean herself to do that?  Or . . .

‘Why do you want to restore her, Sesshoumaru?  If you don’t care, as you say, then why are you even bothering?  And don’t say it’s simply because Tenseiga wouldn’t react, that you’re trying to prove whatever strange and cynical point you have.’

Sesshoumaru frowned.  He didn’t rightfully know why he felt so compelled; not really.  In truth, it made no sense.  It wasn’t something he could explain, possibly because he couldn’t put the feelings into words, but he’d felt it more often recently, hadn’t he?  That strange fascination, that draw . . . And he’d told himself many times that he was being foolish, that he wasn’t like his great and terrible father—swayed by a pretty face, only to end up, fighting someone else’s wars, only to leave behind messes that someone else would have to clean up . . .

And that was the crux of it was, wasn’t it?  His father, insisting that he had to confront Ryukotsusei, all because he’d posed a general threat to Musashi, Izayoi’s father’s territory, and then, he had ended up, sealing the great dragon, surely, however, he had also sustained mortal wounds in that fight, leaving Izayoi behind—that miserable human woman he’d taken to mate—as well as an infant: InuYasha.  Before he’d succumbed to his wounds, however, he’d come to Sesshoumaru, had asked him to watch over the infant pup, to promise that InuYasha would reach his majority.

And wasn’t that the highest of insults?  Asking him to watch over the infant pup who never should have been born—a creature that was neither human nor youkai . . . And even so, Sesshoumaru had done exactly what his father had asked of him, drawing away threats, making sure the pup did not die, despite his own feelings on the matter, and, of course, that hot-headed miscreant of a half-brother had never realized it, either, which was fine with Sesshoumaru.  It was beneath his dignity, wasn’t it?  But he’d given his word, which, in turn, allowed their father to die in relative peace.

‘Damned fool.’

But now, his father was gone—had been gone for such a long time . . . InuYasha was gone—maybe not dead, but gone, just the same . . . Kagura was gone, too . . .

It didn’t matter.  It shouldn’t matter.  Being alone was something he was accustomed to.  He prided himself upon needing no one, had fashioned his entire existence around the idea that he could stand alone, was beholden to no one.  He’d decided long ago that he didn’t need anyone, that he would be the strongest, the fastest, the best, and . . .

Rin and Jaken . . . Well, they needed him.  Jaken had chosen to follow him.  He had certainly never asked him to do so.  As such, he was not exactly what Sesshoumaru would consider a companion, of course.  Jaken was more of a servant than anything.  The imp was convinced that Sesshoumaru had saved him from an invading youkai and had dedicated himself to a lifetime of servitude to show his gratitude.  Sesshoumaru, however, had simply been passing through, and the youkai had gotten in his way—as simple as that.

Rin?

His scowl turned thoughtful as the image of the little girl flickered to light in his mind.  That joyful smile, the exuberance that hadn’t been there when he’d found her—or rather, when she found him—after an ill-conceived fight with InuYasha.  He’d sought to teach InuYasha how to see the fissure where youki collided—the kaze no kizu.  He didn’t tell InuYasha what he’d done.  He knew the baka well enough to know that he would rather fight than listen, especially when it came to Sesshoumaru.  So, instead, he had taken Tetsusaiga and had unleashed the attack upon InuYasha.  It had never been that cut and dried between them, and it probably never would be, either.  InuYasha was intuitive enough, though, to replicate the attack after seeing Sesshoumaru perform it, and that, in Sesshoumaru’s mind, was more than enough, simpleton that he was.

Rin, however . . . She’d stumbled upon him, deep in the forest near her village where Tenseiga had teleported him to avoid being killed by InuYasha’s kaze no kizu, though not before enough damage was dealt him.  She hadn’t spoken then—he thought that maybe she couldn’t at the time—but she had tried to offer him food that he had declined.  He’d told her to go away, to leave him alone.  She hadn’t listened, and when she’d come to him with bruises on her face, he’d asked her, almost on an impulse, where she’d gotten them.  She hadn’t answered . . . but she had smiled . . .

Then, he’d smelled her blood, found her, lying in the path, dead, the victim of a wolf-youkai attack.  On a whim, Tenseiga had decided to save her, and she’d been with him ever since.

He felt a warmth toward her, as much as it consternated him.  She was a child—a glorious child—always so eager to please, so ready to smile, to lighten his spirits, even if he never really showed her that.  He’d been accused before of keeping her like a pet, and there might well have been a bit of truth to that.  Even so, he couldn’t forget the way she’d tried so desperately to help him in her own way.  He might not have needed it from her, but he could not discard it, either.

But she was just a child, and she, like Jaken, relied upon him.  He could live without them if he had to, but they . . . They could not survive without him . . .

“Good morning, Sesshoumaru-sama.  I trust you slept well within the safety of my forest?”

Sesshoumaru didn’t deign to comment as he stopped before the ancient magnolia tree.  “Tell me what you’ve learned, Bokusenou,” he demanded instead.

Undeterred, Bokusenou chuckled, and the sound of it seemed to fill the clearing.  “I think I should warn you that no living soul has ever been granted audience with Izanami.  It seems that she does not like to mix the living with the dead.”

“I realize that,” Sesshoumaru replied.  “Did she deny me?”

“Actually, she did not.  However, she requires that you bring her something—a gift—to show your good will, but I warn you: what she’s asked for is not something easily acquired.”

“What does she want?”

The magnolia-youkai took his time before answering.  “She wants the Heart of Kiriyama.”

“The Heart of Kiriyama,” he echoed.  “Does that even exist?”

“It does,” Bokusenou replied.  “However, the way is dangerous, even for one such as you.”

“It will be of little consequence to me,” he insisted.

Again, the rumble of branches and leaves . . . the sound of the ancient being’s laughter, indulgent and earthy, and tinged by the scent of magnolia blossoms.  “If you lose your way, look to the trees of Kiriyama for aide, but be cautious.  Some of the trees there have been perverted, bent by the ill that lingers there.  Over time, that ill has tainted them, twisted them, but there are a few who cling to the old ways of honor and dignity.”

“I won’t need it,” he predicted, his countenance settling into a mask of concentration.

“Do you know what you’re even looking for?”

“It matters not.  I will find it.”

Bokusenou sighed.  “If it were that simple . . . They say that a fog lies heavily upon the mountain—a fog created by the jyaki of all the youkai who die.  It migrates there and settles.  It’s as close to Yomi on earth as you will ever find.  Ill will and rage reside there, lingering in the visceral form of the fog.  You must travel through that, immersing yourself in the thick of it, to find the Heart of Kiriyama.  They say that the heart lives, deep in a cave on the eastern side of Kiriyama . . . None who have gone there in search of it have ever made it back alive.  You will go mad or die—that is what they say.”

“I will succumb to neither,” Sesshoumaru replied.

“Are you so sure?” Bokusenou challenged mildly.

Amber eyes narrowing in silent warning, Sesshoumaru stared back at Bokusenou for a long moment.  “You assume that I am as weak as the ones who have tried before,” he stated coldly.  “You assume much.”

“Perhaps I do.”

Sesshoumaru pondered it for a minute.  The Heart of Kiriyama?  He’d heard whispers and legends about it before, but as far as he knew, no one had ever actually looked upon it, much less retrieved it.  “So, I simply have to retrieve the Heart of Kiriyama and take it to Izanami.  Well done, Bokusenou.  You’ve been most helpful.”

The wizened old tree sighed.  “Be careful, Sesshoumaru-sama—and good luck.”